


Tundra Trouble

by hijinxes_n_n0wheremans



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cold Weather, Fluff, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hijinxes_n_n0wheremans/pseuds/hijinxes_n_n0wheremans
Summary: "It could be the cold, could be that he would probably be dead in a day, could be that they were miles from home on what felt like an alien planet and it seemed the normal rules just didn’t apply anymore. But as Dean looked up at Cas, he found himself wanting to be closer, even closer than he already was." (Dean and Cas get stranded at the North Pole.)





	Tundra Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys. This is my first fic ever. I really want to know what y'all think, so please comment! Constructive criticism is appreciated :D
> 
> I took some inspiration from the fic "The Big Freeze" by strangeandcharm. It's a really awesome one, so def check it out!
> 
> Also, peep my semi-Dr. Who reference w/ the "Weeper"

“What kind of monster zaps people across the globe for laughs?” Dean asked as he lounged back in a plastic library chair. Sam shrugged without lifting his gaze from his table, piled high with documents and articles. Dean glanced at a clock hanging on the opposite wall — 6:15 p.m.

“How come a teeny Minnesota library stays open past 6:00?” He wondered as he fiddled with his jacket sleeve. In every case the pair worked, the worst part was always the research. Hours spent poring over hundred-year-old documents and weekly local papers?” He’d take fighting a monster any day.

As if on cue, a heavyset woman in thick-rimmed glasses and a draping cardigan stepped up from the reception area. “Fifteen minutes until close!” She called.

Sam ignored her, frowning at a headline that read, “Local St. Paul Woman Wakes Up in Bahrain.”

Dean scowled. “Come on Sammy, we’ve been at this for six hours. Weirdo monster that zaps people with acne across the globe; what else is there to say?”

The brothers had driven to St. Paul after Sam picked up on a series of strange articles about locals waking up and finding themselves stranded halfway across the world. Turns out, all of these people had a dermatology appointment at Ricardo’s Skin Clinic the day before their… _rude awakening_. It was weird, definitely monster-y, and nothing like they’d ever seen before. Sam furrowed his brow and brought his hand to his forehead.

“Dean, we don’t know why or how the thing’s doing this — or even what the ‘thing’ is! We can’t just charge in empty-handed!” Sam’s voice raised slightly, drawing a glare from a nearby old lady previously nose-deep a paperback romance novel.

Sam smiled sheepishly at the woman, who pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and indignantly returned to her novel, muttering about chatter in the library.

Dean mulled, “We know where the thing is — the dermatology place. I say we just go in prepared for anything, and take the rest along the way.”

“What, so we just jump in blind? What if he zaps us too?” Sam said.

“It might just be a really powerful demon or angel, which we know how to kill. Let’s just do it and get out of this friggin library.”

“You’re dumb, but fine,” replied Sam. Dean grinned, then rose from the table and stretched his arms above his head. “Okay, let’s go eat.”

 

\- - -

 

The next morning, Sam and Dean set out to the dermatology clinic. They parted ways after parking so Sam could scope out the area. Dean had scheduled an exam with Dr. Ricardo the night before, hoping to glean some info from the inside. Sam waved and disappeared around the back of the squat, brick building as Dean crossed the expanse of the parking lot and approached the clinic. The door tinkled as he pulled it open and stepped inside. He was suddenly enveloped by muffled quiet. The doctor’s office was white and pristine, with tiled floors and gleaming walls. Dean’s shoes clacked softly and he walked to reception.

“Fogerty?” asked the receptionist. Her hair was tied painfully tight in a bun at the top of her head. When she smiled up at Dean from her desk, only the tips of her mouth moved, while the rest of her remained steeled in place.

“Yep,” said Dean. He surveyed the empty waiting room, lined with hard-backed chairs and a coffee table centerpiece.

“Right this way.”

Dean followed the receptionist down a short corridor and was led into an equally immaculate exam room. He jumped up onto a paper-lined exam table.

“The doctor will be with you in a couple of minutes,” the receptionist said before exiting, shutting the door softly behind her.

“You need to leave now.” Dean nearly jumped out of his skin as Castiel materialized directly in front of him. Dean felt a rush of air from the sudden appearance, the bottom of Cas’s trench coat brushing Dean’s dangling foot.

“Jesus, you’ve got to stop that!” Dean scowled. Castiel just tilted his head, eyes still trained urgently on Dean. “We need to leave. Now,” he repeated.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“This creature is dangerous and too powerful for you to face. He—”

Castiel was cut off as a wiry, grey-haired man in a lab coat entered with a clipboard.

“Hi there, my name is Dr. Ricardo, and I—”

He stopped in his tracks as he glanced up and saw Castiel.

“An angel. How… nice,” the doctor narrowed his eyes as he quietly stepped inside the office and shut the door behind him.

“Fuck,” said Dean.

Castiel touched his hand to Dean’s shoulder, making to transport them out of the office.

“Not so fast,” said the doctor, smirking. He nudged a painting hanging on the wall by his head, revealing a sigil drawn on the plaster. Dean glanced at Castiel and saw his face darken.

“I never thought I’d actually make use of this, but I guess it just goes to show: better safe than sorry.”

Castiel glared at the doctor, then turned towards Dean. “I’ve been rendered powerless for as long as I remain in this room,” he explained.

“I think I’ll put you somewhere special. Somewhere _cool_ ,” said the doctor. He reached both his narrow, wrinkled hands to Cas and Dean.

Dean reached for his gun. “Not so fast—” The rest was lost as the doctor’s fingers brushed the two mens’ foreheads, vanishing them from the exam room. He chuckled and poked his head out to the receptionist.

“You won’t be needing to prepare a bill for Mr. Fogerty. He’s… taken care of.” The receptionist nodded, smirking, and returned her eyes to her desk.

 

\- - -

 

 _Cold_. That was the first thing Dean registered. He groaned and attempted to lift his palm to rub his forehead, but couldn’t move his hand.

His eyes snapped open and he was greeted by a wall of white.

“Am I underwater?” He thought to himself as he wriggled in his icy cage. “No — solid water. So much snow. In May.” He yanked his hand upwards and broke through the surface of his icy grave. He tried pushing his other hand up above the snow, but it was wedged tight, packed in by what Dean assumed was his fall into a snowdrift. Suddenly, Dean felt a warm hand grab his own surfaced one and _pull_.

The hand dragged Dean out from the snowdrift and he collapsed on the icy bank, panting. He glanced up and saw Castiel, nose red from the cold and hair mussed from rescuing Dean, but otherwise calm and collected. Wind whipped at his coat, billowing it behind him as Cas stared concernedly.

“Shield your face,” Castiel said as held a hand to his forehead. "The sun’s reflection on the ice is too bright for your eyes.”

 _The ice?_ Dean glanced around and was shocked to see snow, snow, and more snow. Capped mountains peaked in the distance, meeting a pale grey sky. The ground was pure white, and wind whipped across the icy plateau the pair stood on. Dean felt like he was on an alien planet. A fucking freezing alien planet. Dean squinted against the gleaming white. He glanced back at Castiel, grabbing the sunglasses.

“Are we in Antarctica?” He asked, raising his eyes to meet Cas’s.

“I believe we’re at the North Pole, transported here by the creature you foolishly attempted to encounter empty-handed.”

“I wasn’t empty-handed — I was packing enough weapons to stand a chance in hell itself!” Dean argued.

“Yet, none could have even made a dent on the Weeper.”

“Weeper?” Dean rose to his feet.

“Yes. Formed by demons from enchanted stone, weepers have the ability to transport people through time and space, chopping a few years or more off of their victims’ lives and feeding off the residual energy.”

“Wait, so that dick stole years of my life?” Dean asked angrily. With his job, he probably wouldn’t even live long enough to notice, but still. They’re his years.

“He probably did not attempt to take our time in fear of tampering with my infinite lifespan and power. Our transportation was simply to remove us as a threat.”

Dean mulled this over, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. What was a few minutes ago a bearable but uncomfortable chill had become painful. His toes tingled in his boots, and the icy air burned his lungs. “But, we’re still stuck in the North fucking Pole. Can you zap us back? I’m freezing my ass off here.” Dean was wearing only a light spring jacket, and had begun shaking violently.

Castiel’s frown deepened. “I can’t zap us back — the Weeper must have drained me when he transported us”

“Then what are we supposed to do?” Dean asked incredulously. He paced back and forth, jumping slightly. The cold bit at his face and seeped into his body. Dean shrugged deeper into his coat. Castiel turned his gaze to Dean, his face softening. “You need to stay warm. I will regain my full strength within the next day or two. Until then, we just need to survive.”

“Hold up — Sam’s going to think I’m dead!” Dean exclaimed. He pulled out his cellphone and checked the signal — nonexistent. Great.

“We need to get back ASAP. What if Sam tries to face that thing alone?”

“I agree, but there’s nothing to be done right now.” Castiel quirked his head, eyes soft with concern. “Here — take my coat,” Castiel said, shrugging the signature trench coat off his shoulders.

“Dude, I’m not gonna take your coat.”

“You need it more than I do — the cold may affect the vessel, but it doesn’t pain me or threaten my life. You are who we need to worry about right now.”

Dean hesitated, then took the coat from Cas. He shrugged it onto his shoulders and burrowed into the welcome layer of heat it provided. The sleeves were still warm from when Cas wore it. As Dean shrugged it closer across his chest, he smelled wood and spice, like cedar. He felt strange, wearing something so inherently Cas — the angel wore it so much, it felt almost an extension of him. Dean glanced up at Castiel. Like a superhero without his cape, without the coat, he looked less like an all-powerful angel and more just like a guy. Dean slipped his hands into the coat pockets and pulled out a gum wrapper. _Does Castiel chew gum, or had he simply left the wrapper in his pocket for the years he’d worn it?_

Castiel stood silently with a furrowed brow.

Dean glanced at Castiel. “What’s the plan?”

“I believe I have enough energy to build us a shelter.” Castiel glanced around, then fixed his gaze on a slightly raised snowbank just to their right. Suddenly, a chunk of the ice disappeared, leaving a slanted entry to a little foxhole. Cas turned to Dean. “This way,” he said as he guided Dean into the burrow.

Suddenly, the wind stopped howling at Dean’s face as he crawled in front of Cas through a short entryway into a hole of about four feet cubed. He squeezed to the back to make room for Cas.

“Wait, hold on,” Castiel hastily pulled off his jacket and slid it under Dean’s crouching feet. Dean gripped Castiel’s shoulder to step over the jacket and allow it to slide under him.

“You can’t rest directly on ice. You need a layer beneath you.” Dean grunted a thanks and sat back on Cas’s jacket.

Dean looked back up at his companion. He could see each of Castiel’s eyelashes, and their movement as they brushed softly under the angel’s eye when he blinked. Hell, Dean could see each little line of stubble on Cas’s chin, the quarters were so close. He could feel a slight breeze on his cheek from Castiel’s breath. Ordinarily, Dean would wish for more space, but the breath felt warm on his face, and Dean closed his eyes into it, relaxing a little. Dean looked down to see that his palm was bleeding — it must have scraped against the ice when Dean broke free from the snowdrift. It wasn’t too bad — just an inch long — but Dean figured had he been at home, he would’ve broken out the stitches. Castiel saw the blood too, and leaned in to investigate. He slowly reached his hand around Dean’s, grasping it softly. Dean felt Cas’s healing mojo course into his skin, repairing the tissue. Dean glanced up at Cas’s piercing blue gaze, which were currently locked on Dean’s hand. Up this close, Dean noticed that Cas’s eyes weren’t all blue — they were flecked with unique, bright gold flakes. _Angelic_ , Dean thought. He wondered if the gold was leftover from Jimmy, or if Castiel brought it with him into Jimmy’s vessel as a part of his being.

Castiel slowly drew back, sitting back cross-legged.

Dean glanced around at their shelter. It was perfectly square, with a short, winding entryway opposite Dean where Castiel sat.

“Hold up, you’re sitting right on the snow _and_ next to the entryway, right after you gave me shit.” Dean scooted over so they were both sitting on the edge across from the opening, and removed Castiel’s trench coat to lay it on the floor.

“Dean. Keep it on. You need it more than I do.”

“Cas, come on. You’re no help if your vessel’s frozen solid. I’ll put on the jacket.” Dean’s fingers shook as he took off the trench coat, and a chill swept over him when he slipped it off his shoulders. He spread it across the shelter floor. He replaced it with Cas’s jacket, which helped somewhat. Dean’s eyes felt heavy; in their little dugout, covered in jackets, Dean felt relatively cozy.

“Okay, well I’m hitting the hay,” Dean declared as he scooted down, resting his feet near the entryway. Castiel stayed sitting.

“Do you even sleep?” Dean asked from where he lay, facing the ceiling.

“Usually, no. But with my powers drained, I think I may need to.” Castiel said thoughtfully. He seemed to ponder the matter a few more seconds, remaining upright, before seeming to resign to his newfound needs and carefully lying down on his side of the trench coat.

 

\- - -

 

Dean woke up shivering. His whole body was vibrating like an electronic toothbrush. He’d turned onto his side while he slept, facing away from Castiel. His hands had drifted out of his pockets while he slept, and his fingers felt like icicles. His legs and feet, left near the entryway, felt like they weren’t even part of his body anymore. Sweat from when he first entered the shelter had frozen in his clothes, chilling his skin to the bone. His knee was hanging off Castiel’s trench coat and resting on the bare snow, and Dean would bet a million dollars that, under his jeans, the skin was bright blue.

 _Jesus, pull yourself together, Dean_ , he thought to himself, trying to steady his ragged, rapid breathing. He heard movement behind him; his freakout must have woken Cas.

“What’s happ’n,” Cas slurred. The tone was so out of character that Dean would have laughed had his teeth not been chattering violently. Dean had never imagined that Castiel would wake up in the morning bleary-eyed and yawning, just like everyone else. But of course, he probably didn’t — at least not usually, when he was at full strength. Did Cas find it strange, sleeping after remaining awake for so long?

Noticing Dean’s shivering, Castiel became suddenly alert. He grabbed Dean’s shoulder, turning him roughly onto his back. “Dean! Dean, are you okay?” Cas examined Dean’s face, eyes hardening worriedly. Dean squinted back at him, shivering.

“So. Cold,” Dean gasped as he bent his knees, pulling them as far away as possible from the entryway. Castiel pursed his lips and placed his hand against Dean’s cheek. Dean looked up at Cas from the ground, unable to move from the cold. He would have protested such intimate contact, but Cas’s hand felt so warm against his icy skin that Dean found himself leaning into the touch.

The angel quickly sprung into action, moving his hands up and down Dean’s arms. Dean could feel his blood vessels springing back into action where Cas’s friction took effect. Cas took Dean’s hands in his own and held them tight, blowing hot breath onto them. The angel’s mouth almost touched Dean’s palm.

Then Cas abruptly sat back, beginning to unbutton his shirt.

Dean’s eyes widened. “Hold up,” he whispered. The cold air bit his throat.

“Dean, you are beginning to contract hypothermia. It will be hours before I regain enough strength to transport us home. Think about what’s important” Cas said forcefully. He finished unbuttoning his shirt, and it hung loosely on either side of his chest. Castiel wasn’t as skinny as Dean imagined he’d be; slim, yes, but a little more toned and filled-out. Castiel moved his hands to Dean’s chest, and Dean glanced down as Cas briskly unbuttoned the jacket, then Dean’s coat, and then pulled up his T-shirt.

“Should you really be removing my clothes right now?” Dean stuttered. Cas didn’t respond. The angel gently lowered himself onto Dean’s chest, closing Dean’s outerwear back over them as much as possible and reaching his hands around Dean’s chest under the jackets.

Ordinarily, this would be a major freak-out moment for Dean. But he was too cold to care. Castiel radiated warmth, bringing life back to Dean’s icy skin through his firm grip. Cas lifted his head and exhaled warm air onto Dean’s bare chest, and Dean relaxed into the soothing heat. He wanted to reach his arms around Cas’s middle under the button-down, but he figured that was too far. Suddenly, Dean’s lids felt heavy against his cheeks. _Craving sleep is a sign of hypothermia_ , thought Dean, before falling unconscious.

He woke up to tumultuous movement. Someone was shaking him violently by the shoulders.

“Dean, wake up. Wake up!” Dean opened his eyes, squinting up at a face leaning over him. Cas.

“I’m up, I’m up!” Dean croaked.

“You can’t fall asleep. You probably shouldn’t even be lying down. If you go to sleep, you may not wake up.” This managed to sober Dean into wakefulness. He sat up slowly, leaning against an icy wall. Castiel scooted next to Dean until their sides were flush, then reached up an arm to slink under Dean’s coat. Cas’s arm felt powerful and strong, gripping Dean’s middle protectively. Dean was past arguing about contact; he just wanted to stay warm, and stay alive. But staying awake was another matter.

 

\- - -

 

“Dean. _Dean_.”

Dean opened his eyes slowly. Castiel was kneeling in front of him, in the space between Dean’s own splayed legs. The angel’s face was only inches away from Dean’s own. His right arm gripped Dean’s shoulder, right where the angel’s handprint once lay. His right rested firmly on Dean’s chest, directly above his heart.

“ _Dean_ ,” he said again.

“Yeah?” Dean said weakly, closing his eyes again, ready to resign once again to the sleepy cold.

“You can’t fall asleep,” Cas said, moving his hand from Dean’s shoulder to grip the side of his face, shaking it slightly. “You need to stay awake. Please.”

Dean had never heard the angel plead before. He opened his eyes again and peered up at Cas. The angel’s hair was mussed and tangled, eyebrows knit. Dean could feel the angel’s palm shaking slightly as it lay against Dean’s jaw. He looked small and underdressed; his tie lay undone, the two ends falling loosely on either side of his open dress shirt. He was so close that Dean could see faint stubble lining the angel’s jaw. Dean glanced up into the angel’s wide eyes. They were pools of blue, filled with specks of gold. They softly searched Dean’s own face, flitting from one eye to the other concernedly. It was almost endearing to see Cas look so _human_ — Dean couldn’t believe a being as powerful as Castiel could become such a mess just for worry about him. Dean kept his own gaze locked on Castiel’s eyes, absorbed in the sea of emotion amidst the piercing blue. They stared at each other, inches apart. Dean was hyperaware of Castiel’s hand on his chest, right where his heart was now hammering (Could the angel feel it?).

It could be the cold, could be that he would probably be dead in a day, could be that they were miles from home on what felt like an alien planet and it seemed the normal rules just didn’t apply anymore. But as Dean looked up at Cas, he found himself wanting to be closer, even closer than he already was. Dean’s gaze dipped quickly to Cas’s lips, then back up to match the angel’s piercing gaze again.

The angel’s thumb moved against Dean’s cheek, brushing back and forth slowly. Cas’s breath felt hot against Dean’s face. They were so close, breathing each other’s breath.

In these past few seconds, a wall had broken between them. Dean was once afraid to touch Castiel, reaching out only when his emotions got the better of him — embracing after reuniting in purgatory, cupping the angel’s face when Cas appeared to have been killed by Bartholomew’s minion. Now, they stared into each others’ eyes, just searching. And then Dean looked away.

Dean didn’t understand why he was feeling what he was feeling. It didn’t seem simply like new emotions had grown; it felt like a dam had burst, letting what had been building up for a long time topple over into reality. It was just too much.

He glanced down, then shifted to sit a little straighter. Cas removed his hands from Dean’s head and heart, sitting back on his heels. It was as if time started moving again.

“Thanks, man. For keeping me awake,” Dean said gruffly.

“Of course,” Castiel replied. They stared around at the foxhole, looking at anything but each other.

“How long do you think until your powers come back?” Dean asked, pulling Cas’s jacket tighter around his chest.

“Should be within a few hours.” Cas replied shortly.

Dean nodded. His face was arranged in a careful calm.

Inside, Dean was freaking out.

 _What the hell just happened?_ He and Castiel have a bond; Dean knows this. He’s called Cas his friend, best friend — hell, even family. He’d always thought of Cas like a brother-slash-guardian angel. Cas was someone to look for and look up to. Someone to save the day when all hope was lost. Someone to fight with and fight for — because that’s what family does. But that’s not how Dean felt five minutes ago.

He thought back to Cas’s eyes. To Cas’s hands on his face. To the way little creases formed on either side of the angel’s mouth when he frowned at Dean. The way Dean wanted to reach his hand up and smooth out those creases. To place his hand on Castiel’s heart and feel it beating— because angel or not, Castiel was _alive_. And Dean cared about him.

Him. Not only was Castiel an angel, he was a male angel. How could this even be happening? Dean had never had feelings like this for any man he’d ever encountered. But Castiel wasn’t just some guy. He was Cas. Cas, who saved Dean from perdition. Cas, who’s seen every part of Dean’s soul and still believes he deserves to be saved. Cas, who abandoned heaven and all his brothers for Dean. Who risked death and pain and isolation for him. Cas, who is thousands of years old but acts like a little kid, unfamiliar with and entranced by everything around him. Cas, with mussy hair and golden flecks in his crystal blue eyes.

But Cas is an angel. A whole different species. How could Dean ever know what’s really going on inside his head?

“Cas?” Dean asked roughly. He glanced up quickly, then back down at his lap. “Do angels _want_ things?” Dean raised his eyes again. Cas’s eyebrows lifted.

“I want us to return to America safely. I want to restore order to heaven,” Cas answered.

“But, do you want things for yourself? Do you care about little things?”

“I care about family. I care about my brothers in heaven, misguided as they are. I cared about Bobby and Ellen and Jo, and felt sorrow when they died. I cared about Meg, even though she was a demon. I care about Sam. And I care about you.” Cas looked up at Dean as he said the final sentence. Dean met his gaze.

“I care about you too.” Dean replied. Cas quirked his head.

“You’re my best friend, Cas. I’ve never had a best friend before.” Dean said. He sat up, kneeling across from Cas. His eyes found Cas’s, searching them for something akin to what Dean had just realized he had been feeling deep within himself for a long time.

“But… you’re more than that to me,” Dean said. Lost in the angel’s gaze, Dean didn’t even register that he was leaning in until he could again feel Cas’s breath on his face. Dean glanced down at Cas’s lips, inches away from his own. The angel was staring at Dean, silent, his face open. Dean reached out a hand and gripped the side of Cas’s face in his hand as his eyes shifting to glance around at his periphery, looking anywhere but at Cas even though they were so close.

“I —”

“Dean,” Cas said. Dean’s eyes snapped back to Cas’s eyes. Cas paused, then raised a hand, resting it splayed on Dean’s chest. It burned warm there. Then Cas leaned in, closing the distance between them.

Dean’s eyes remained open when the angel’s lips met his, still searching the angel’s deep blue eyes. Cas’s eyes were open too, and they looked huge as they stared into Dean’s. But then Dean closed his eyes and moved his hand to the back of Cas’s head, running his fingers through the angel’s hair. Dean felt Cas relax into him, and the hand on Dean’s chest moved to grasp his side, pulling Dean closer.

Cas’s lips felt rough and worn, but soft — like him. He tasted like cedar, mint, and something indescribably but undeniably _Castiel_. Dean kissed Cas softly, his tongue flicking out to swipe Cas’s lips. Dean felt electric. After all of the times he’d restrained himself, kept his distance, stifled his emotions behind a steely poker face, Dean wanted to touch Castiel everywhere, to know everything about him.

Dean gently pushed Castiel back until the angel was lying on the trench coat with Dean on top of him. Dean relaxed onto Castiel, lying against him. Dean ran his hand down Castiel’s side and across his chest until he found the gap between the two sides of the angel’s unbuttoned shirt. He slipped his hand under the shirt, reaching up to feel Cas’s bare skin. Overcome with a sudden surge of passion, Dean kissed Castiel harder, sucking a little on his bottom lip. Cas hummed, and Dean felt it on his own lips. Dean swiped out his tongue again, and Cas opened his mouth to let Dean in. Their tongues danced with each other, exploring. Then Dean leaned back a fraction, planting one last, soft kiss on the side of Cas’s lips, resting there for a moment, brushing against Cas’s stubble.

Dean lifted himself off of Cas and lay down beside him, facing the angel. Cas turned on his side to face Dean. They stared at each other for a time, soaking in the reality of what just happened.

“How you feeling?” Dean asked Cas. Cas smiled, then reached up a hand to stroke the side of Dean’s face.

“Thankful for the Weeper, actually.” Castiel said. Dean hated the monster for sending them up to the middle of nowhere, but he realized he, too, was glad it happened. Maybe it took being isolated in the tundra with death lurking around the corner for Dean to admit his feelings to himself, and subsequently Cas.

“Did you always know?” Dean asked.

“No,” Castiel replied, running his fingers along Dean’s jaw. “I always felt a bond to you. I know you better than anyone, better even than you know yourself. I rescued you from Hell, left Heaven for you, fought alongside you in Purgatory, died for you multiple times, sacrificed myself for your cause, sought you out when I was at my worst.” Castiel frowned. “I knew I cared about you. That I felt close to you. But I’m an angel — angels don’t get emotional, don’t form attachments. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was feeling. I thought that our bond was brotherly, maybe.” Castiel paused to look up at Dean. “But it isn’t. It’s something else entirely. I love you, Dean. Loved you since the moment I held your soul in my hands and put you back together piece by piece, even if I didn’t know it then.”

“I didn’t know until today, either.” Dean replied. “But I think it’s been there for forever.”

Dean scooted closer to Castiel, looping his arm around the angel’s neck and the other across his chest, leaning his head on Cas’s shoulder.

“You’re shivering,” Dean said, surprised.

“So are you,” noted Cas. Dean had momentarily forgotten the cold, but it seemed it had slowly crawled back to them.

“Get up for a second,” said Dean. He lifted the trench coat off of the floor, then took off the jacket Cas gave him. Laying the jacket on the ground where their heads had been, Dean pulled Cas back down until he was lying on the ground, with his head on the jacket. Then, Dean lay down beside him, pulling the trench coat over them both as a blanket. Though no fabric lay beneath them, Dean figured their clothes would be enough to shield them from the icy floor.

They snuggled together under the trench coat, tangling their legs together. Dean put an arm around Cas and the angel rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. Dean gazed down at the angel. Cas’s eyes were closed. He was shivering slightly from the cold, grasping Dean tightly around his middle. Yet, he looked content, lying against Dean. Dean felt a sudden protective surge for the angel. He wanted to keep Cas from harm, shelter him from the cold. He held Cas tighter, reaching one hand up to ruffle his hair.

“I got you, Cas,” he said. “Always.”

 

\- - -

 

“Dean?” Cas said an hour later, raising his head from where it lay on Dean’s shoulder.

“I think I can get us back. I feel strong enough now.” Dean opened his eyes and glanced down at Castiel.

“Okay,” Dean said. He’d been itching to get back to Minnesota since their feet hit the snow, but now that the time had come, Dean hesitated. It felt like he and Cas existed in an alternate dimension at the North Pole — one where their need for warmth turned their friendship into something different. When they return, would their relationship revert back to business-as-usual? Or, if not, how would they figure out the murky details of their changed relationship? Would Cas stick around longer, driving with them in the Impala? Staying the night with them in motels? And what about Sam? Dean cringed at the thought of telling him. _“Hey, dude. So, when Cas and I were freezing our asses off in the arctic, we realized our undying love for each other and made out. And now we’re going steady!”_

Dean glanced up at Cas. The fact remained, they couldn’t stay in this world of ice. They needed to go home, consequences be what they may.

“Let’s go.” Dean said. Castiel reached out and grasped Dean’s shoulder, and the world faded to black.

 

\- - -

 

When Dean opened his eyes, he found himself in a grimy alley, lined by two squat, brick-walled buildings. It was night, and a sliver of moon shone on the pavement. And it was so _warm_. Dean looked down and realized he was wearing Cas’s trench coat. The angel must have magic-d it onto him when he was transported. Dean ran a hand along the familiar fabric and smiled. Cas.

The tundra felt like a dream. Never had Dean imagined that something so unimaginable as kissing Cas could happen in real life. Dean half-thought that it _was_ a dream. Maybe the Weeper’s mojo was like the Djinn’s, simply projecting what the victim wants to see. _After all,_ Dean thought as he peered out at the alley, _Cas is nowhere to be found. Typical_. Dean turned, finding an exit onto the main street, and walked towards it. He turned the corner, and found himself face-to-face with the angel.

“You shouldn’t lurk around corners like that, Cas. It’s creepy,” said Dean, smirking a little.

“I’m sorry for frightening you,” Cas replied sheepishly. His voice had regained its usual tenor, and his hands looked steady. Color had returned to his face, and his hair looked a bit neater. It was like their trip up north had never happened.

“Here — you’re here for this, right?” Dean asked quickly as he shrugged off the trench coat, offering it to Cas. Cas frowned.

“I’m not here for that,” Cas said. “I’m here… for you.” Dean’s gaze shot up to meet Cas’s.

“Oh,” Dean said eloquently. “I was thinking you might have thought, you know. ‘What happens in the arctic stays in the arctic.’”

“Oh — is that how you feel?” Cas asked, stepping back a touch.

“No!” Dean said a loudly. “I mean, no. It’s not. Is it… how you feel?” Dean asked, peering at Cas.

Cas shifted on his feet. “No, it’s not. Everything I said up there was true. The way I felt — and feel — remains the same.”

Dean stepped forward a touch. “Me too,” he said as he reached out, grasping Cas’s arm. “I know this is going to get messy, trying to figure ‘us’ out down here. With Sam and hunting and everything. But none of that matters,” Dean finished. He glanced up at Castiel. At his long eyelashes, blue eyes, and sweet, open face. Dean took Castiel by the jacket and pulled him back into the alleyway. He leaned in, feeling the angel’s breath on his mouth for a second before their lips met.

This time, their kiss was wet and sloppy. Dean reached a hand up to run through Cas’s hair, wrapping the other one around the angel’s waist. Then, Cas took the lead. He nudged Dean up against the opposite wall, pressing in close against him. As Dean felt his back softly hit the wall, he remembered the last time him and Castiel were up-close-and-personal in an alley. Cas was beating the crap out of him, angry that Dean had decided to allow Michael to use him as his vessel. Even then, when Dean thought the angel might kill him, Dean knew that, deep down, he felt something for Cas. He only wished he could have swallowed his pride and realized what that something was a little sooner.

But now, Cas and Dean stood flush as Cas ran a hand up Dean’s side. They kissed hard and quickly, lips breaking apart and finding each other again and again. Dean shifted back, glancing up at Cas. He smiled, and grabbed Cas’s head in his hands. Dean kissed Cas’s eyelids, one by one; thanking those beautiful blue eyes just for existing. For helping someone like Castiel to see. Dean lowered his face and slowly kissed Cas’s jaw. The stubble nudged Dean’s lips pleasantly. Then the angel took Dean’s face in his hands and kissed him slowly, chastely, on the lips. Their lips parted, but they kept their heads locked together.

“I love you, Cas.” said Dean.

“I know,” Cas replied.


End file.
